


Light It Up

by paintedunlady



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Arson, Asexual Character, Assassins & Hitmen, Biting, Explicit Language, Lingerie, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Sadism, Violence, maybe- i'm not really sure what he and joonmyun are, what are punctuation rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedunlady/pseuds/paintedunlady
Summary: Chanyeol and Zitao are the ones Jongdae goes to when he doesn’t care about finesse or order or potential consequences; Chanyeol and Zitao are the ones he sends out when he needs to get shit done.(inspired by this right here and the "Big sweaters and lacy lingerie underneath" text post that was right below it)





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm kris and i like to use hyphens and commas where they probably don't belong \o/

Chanyeol and Zitao are the ones Jongdae goes to when he doesn’t care about finesse or order or potential consequences; Chanyeol and Zitao are the ones he goes to when he needs to get shit _done._

He calls them in the middle of a Thursday afternoon- well, calls Zitao, but by a stroke of luck (or maybe just by using common sense) manages to get them both while Zitao is lounging on the couch in his living room with his feet in the air, silk boxers brushing against his thighs and thumb idly working at the ring in his lip as he answers his phone.

“Yes gege?” he purrs into the receiver, cradling the device between his neck and shoulder so he can extend his hand back over to the arm of the couch and into Chanyeol’s awaiting grasp.

Chanyeol doesn’t hear much of the conversation from his seat on the floor- doesn’t need to- as he continues to brush glossy white paint onto Zitao’s nails with long, elegant strokes. It’s a bit harder to do with only one of his eyes currently functional and Zitao is more than capable of doing the job himself, but where would the fun in that be? All he hears are Zitao’s lazy hums of agreement in between the tinny drawl of their boss’s voice and the tinkling of Zitao’s piercings as the younger boy rolls over onto his back when the last nail is finished.

“Can we at least wait for my nails to dry gege?” Zitao asks, voice low and lazy as he turns his hand this way and that to admire the way the smooth polish glitters in the late afternoon light. “Chanyeollie did such a good job on them.”

Chanyeol snorts.

“I don’t care Zitao,” he hears from the earpiece. “Just get it done. Tonight.” And then the line goes dead.

“This one’s gonna be fun,” Zitao says after a beat of silence, grinning wickedly up at his quite literal partner in crime as Chanyeol recaps the bottle of polish and picks at the white dots left on his own nails.

“Yeah?” he answers back, and Zitao’s eyes sparkle- fingers flex.

“Oh yeah.”

 _Good_ , Chanyeol thinks. Charcoal and bloodstains always show up much better on white anyway.

  
  


They never run from the scene- never _ever_ run. No, the running comes after, when they’re already far enough away and don’t even have to. Their wake of destruction is wide enough that they don’t have to worry about anyone coming after them for _hours_ , and by then, there’s nothing left to track them down with anyway.

Singed fingertips never leave behind prints, and the gas cans they leave behind are so generic that it would have police tied up for decades trying to trace them back to anything useful. Everything else goes up up up into monstrous orange flames that reek of iron, octane, and burning flesh as the hitmen- no, not hitmen, that’s too _dignified_ for the shit that they do- tumble out of the wreckage with chests heaving and grins stretching their faces wide enough that they’re almost visible beneath their charcoal black masks.

And this- this is the part Zitao fucking _loves_. After the deed is done and the blood is mostly dry on their faces, Chanyeol gets this wild _wild_ look in his eye that Zitao knows is mirrored in his own. This is why working with Chanyeol is his _favorite._

The other members of Jongdae’s team were fine to work with, but it’s not the same; Kyungsoo had always been too clean, too concise and quiet with his kills, Jongin always a bit too detached, and Joonmyun never wanting to make a scene. But Chanyeol… Chanyeol was like him- was chaotic and rugged and fucking _loved_ it just like him.

Chanyeol never suppressed the giddy laughter that bubbled up in his chest when he took the first swing, cracked the first skull, lit the first match. He never chastised Zitao for letting blood spatter _everywhere_ or pouring a little more gasoline on the carpet than they needed to. Never stopped him from pressing his freshly polished fingernails into wounds and smearing them across the walls like paint just because he fucking could and wanted to feel the extra jolt of electricity running through his system- because Chanyeol gets it. Zitao sees it in Chanyeol’s eyes when their even walk breaks out into a full on run towards the woods, in the solid swing of the metal bar Chanyeol’d kept slung over his shoulder until he just can’t handle the boundless fiery _energy_ coursing through his veins and he has to tackle Zitao to the ground, their long long limbs crashing through the trees and rolling on the ground as they sink their teeth into each other’s skin over and over and over because _why the fuck not?_

Even after it’s all said and done, when they’ve wiped the blood off their hands and scrubbed the gasoline out of their hair, when their wildly drumming hearts have calmed down and they’re back on the couch wearing sweaters bigger than they have any reason to be, Chanyeol still gets it. He knows how soft Zitao is after the comedown- how starved for affection he is- how pliant.

He knows just where to press his hands on Zitao’s thighs, just how high to slide his palms and how gently he can pull at the soft pink lace he finds at the top without pushing any boundaries. Knows that Zitao’s answering moan is merely out of contentment and the hand on the back of Chanyeol’s own matching lime green panties won’t lead to anything past what either of them want it to- just another touch that’s a consequence of not wearing pants around each other because “these are way too cute not to see the light of day Chanyeol come _oooon_.”

And the rush always leaves Chanyeol so so so indulgent.

He hums his agreement against Zitao’s lips and drags his thumb high across Zitao’s cheekbone, fingertips just _just_ barely tapping against the twin metal studs lodged there and wiping away a few wayward drops of blood they must have missed in the shower.

Zitao sighs, warm and content, wraps his hand gently around Chanyeol’s throat just to dig his thumb against the imprint of his own teeth- a mark he leaves over and over and over again every time they do this. It’s a beautiful contrast, he thinks, stark red that will soon turn purple against the sea of endless gold.

It doesn’t lead to anything more, not with them, just a side effect of the adrenaline pumping through their veins like liquid fire, and Zitao is rather content knowing that crescent-shaped bruises are soon to blossom on his own skin too. He sighs again, drags the fingertips of his free hand over the arch of Chanyeol’s eyebrow and catches the little metal balls poking through, revels in the way their twins move just below his touch and Chanyeol’s breath hitches from it. There’s no blood to wipe away though, and Zitao can’t say he’s not a little disappointed.

 _“My messy boy,_ ” Joonmyun would always coo at him after finishing a mission together, licking the stray drops off his face before feeding it back to him in a slow slow slow agonizing kiss while he’s still blissed out on attention.

Chanyeol never says that- can’t ever say that- because he knows exactly why Zitao does it- is sometimes even _worse,_ and he always always indulges, during and after, and the bite mark on Zitao’s neck serves as an ever-present reminder that Chanyeol is _just like him._

 

**Author's Note:**

> i belted this out in about an hour so it's kind of A Mess


End file.
